


Birds of a Feather

by Mithen



Category: DCU Animated
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-11
Updated: 2010-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-06 03:41:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oswald Cobblepot is a respectable citizen and a member of Gotham's elite again, just as he's always wanted to be.  His birds have to stay in cages, but he's free now.  Isn't he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birds of a Feather

His bedroom is filled with the soothing coo and rustle of his feathered friends as Oswald Cobblepot makes the bow on his tie--just right, not drooping, not tilted. There's a slight _tinging_ noise, beak on metal, and he looks over to where his favorite magpie is tapping on the bars of her cage. She cocks her head as he comes closer, her sharp little eyes keen, and rubs her head against his finger when he puts it between the bars.

"Sorry, dear," he murmurs to her. "But it can't be helped." Turning his back on his criminal life has had its perks--being a member of polite society again, holding balls, seeing the Cobblepot name in the society papers once more. But guests to one's parties don't appreciate having birds hopping around the dining room, especially when those birds are trained to snatch jewels.

No, the cages are necessary.

He looks into the mirror again to put the final touches on his _toilette_. Behind him in the shadows of the room his birds watch him from their barred safety, their eyes glinting.

On the way out the door he stops to flick a dust mote from the Cobblepot crest of arms (_sable a chevron gules between three magpies volant_). Then he descends the stairs to meet Gotham society, to take his place among the best as his birthright demands.

**: : : **

The party is a success--people are laughing and admiring his ancestral home, a couple of the women are hanging on his arms appreciatively. But it isn't complete, of course. A party in Gotham is never complete until--ah.

Bruce Wayne is announced.

Some of the _creme de la creme_ of Gotham society make a habit of not attending Oswald's parties, but not Bruce Wayne. He nearly always comes, and if he can't make it, Oswald is sure to receive an impeccably polite note of apology the next day.

He enters Cobblepot Manor at exactly the right time in the evening--not too early, not too late. His suit, his watch, his shoes: all are perfect, of the highest quality without being even the slightest bit ostentatious or showy. Everything about him is tasteful, understated and nonchalant. A man of wealth and power, entirely at ease with his place in the world, effortlessly inhabiting his body and the world around him.

Watching Bruce Wayne always makes Oswald feel acutely aware of his stubby legs, his beaklike nose. And yet one could never hold it against Wayne; the man is entirely devoid of malice. Oswald feels the attention of the women on his arms turn toward the other man like the sun and he shakes his head, almost smiling.

Tonight Wayne has brought his little flock: his two adopted boys, and the elder boy's date, a red-haired girl with laughing eyes. The younger boy is barely old enough to be out this late, a tiny bundle of energy. The elder seems to be in a sulky mood and goes to lean against a wall, glowering as his date teases him with a laugh. Eventually she gives up and goes to dance with the younger boy, who seems caught between acute embarrassment and delight. Wayne watches them all, his eyes those of a hawk looking over its brood.

They're not his real children, Oswald knows this. One's a circus brat, the other is little more than a guttersnipe. The girl--Oswald recognizes her now--even she is merely the daughter of the police commissioner, hardly one of the elite of Gotham. They're connected to Wayne in no way that has any meaning--not blood, not lineage, not family name.

And yet... as Oswald watches them he can see how they're linked, like the mysterious grace of a flock of birds that move in perfect unison. Even the older boy, sullen and angry tonight, even he is part of their flight. They shift together, moods flickering between them like telepathy, adept and keen.

Bruce Wayne comes up to Oswald. "Mr. Cobblepot," he says cheerfully, shaking his hand as the women scatter, giggling. "Another grand party. Thank you for inviting me."

"Please," says Oswald, "Call me Ozzie. All my friends do." No one actually does, but he's fairly sure his friends would. "And you're very kind to attend."

"I'm always pleased to see Mansion Cobblepot lit up and entertaining guests," Wayne says, looking out over the glittering finery, the revelers. "It's a name with a long history."

"It is," Oswald says, thinking of his father's many lectures on the topic, another lifetime ago. "I do my best to live up to it."

**: : :**

The party is over, the detritus cleaned up. The Watchtower chimes once in the distance. Oswald is in his bedroom again, among the cages, listening to the soft murmur of feathers. The moonlight is bright across his bed as he sits down heavily on the edge. His limbs feel leaden, like something is weighing them down.

He could go out. Find some women willing to be impressed by his wallet or his reputation. He doesn't have to be alone tonight.

But when he does finally manage to move, it's to open his magpie's cage. She hops onto his hand, her claws little pinpricks on his skin. Oswald strokes her feathers and thinks of family, and duty, and security, and freedom.

He opens his window and she flutters into the night with a soft _caw_.

The sapphire that she brings back to him is as bright as the eyes of Bruce Wayne's children.


End file.
